


Four times Tonks changed her mind about Fleur and one time she didn't

by GracefullySeven



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Fleur Delacour, BAMF Nymphadora Tonks, Canon-Typical Violence, Chocolate, F/F, Friends to Lovers, Hot Milk, I added an Archive Warning for violence, I guess kind of both?, Minor Fleur Delacour/Bill Weasley, Nymphadora Tonks Lives, Past Fleur Delacour/Bill Weasley, Slow Burn, Strangers to Friends, Tea, just in case
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-02
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2020-04-05 18:43:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19046209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GracefullySeven/pseuds/GracefullySeven
Summary: When Tonks meets Fleur for the first time, her nose is between goose and pig. Here they are, grown adults, members of the super-secret Order of the Phoenix, gathered around the kitchen table in Grimmauld Place, ready to discuss war. Here Tonks should be, an experienced Auror, supposedly serious and scary (and maybe strikingly beautiful, too), bravely participating in a movement to save Wizarding Britain. Instead, here Tonks is, caught with her nose between goose and pig.Oh, well. Things can only go up-hill from here, right?





	1. Part 0

**Author's Note:**

  * For [muse_in_absentia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/muse_in_absentia/gifts).



> This is my (very late) entry for the FemmeFest 2019 challenge and my gift for muse_in_absentia. Your prompts were wonderfully simple, which left a lot of room for me to play around and have fun. In fact, I had so much fun, I had to give up on a couple of fics that ran away with me, until I actually settled on this one. Even so, I'm afraid I wasn't able to incorporate all your requests, unfortunately. I'm sorry. I did try to reflect the 'Friends to Lovers' bit, and in the end there was a little bit of laughter ( I tried to be funny at times, anyway). In the end, I had a blast writing this fic, and though I might end up changing it a little (beta-reader is still to get back to me with some feedback, plus I didn't love the title), I am actually pretty proud of this. I hope you enjoy reading it just as much as I enjoyed writing it! 
> 
> 'Til next time,  
> Seven
> 
> P.S.: I'm not quite sure I linked to the right museinabsentia, so if you've randomly found your name stuck on this, sorry for that. Just send me a message and I'll take it off :)  
> EDIT: I just changed "anonymous" to my name ;) Haven't actually changed the story

**0.**

When Tonks meets Fleur for the first time, her nose is between goose and pig. Bill couldn’t have picked a worse moment to introduce his girlfriend. Here they are, grown adults, members of the super-secret Order of the Phoenix, gathered around the kitchen table in Grimmauld Place, ready to discuss war. Here Tonks should be, an experienced Auror, supposedly serious and scary (and maybe strikingly beautiful, too), bravely participating in a movement to save Wizarding Britain. Instead, here Tonks is, caught with her nose between goose and pig. 

She’d just been trying to lighten the mood, get the kids to crack up and forget the empty chair at the head of the table for just a moment. Things admittedly had taken a turn for the worse after the fiasco at the department of mysteries, but somehow, Tonks thinks that her Uncle wouldn’t want them all to dwell overmuch on his absence. He might have died to protect his godson, but he had lived to make him smile. He would probably rather they remember him with jokes and laughter than with tears and heartbreak. 

Of course, noble intentions don’t stop her from looking rather silly. She fixes her nose quickly, and in her fluster only knocks over one teacup, but she feels the damage has been made. It’s even worse when compared to Fleur herself. She’s gorgeous, of course, that goes without saying. The light from the fireplace catching her hair so it looks like spun strands of silver and gold, held back from her face with an elegant hair pin in the shape of a butterfly, its wings made up of sparkling blue stones. She and Bill have obviously come straight from work, given that they’re both still dressed in Gringotts uniforms, but where Bill looks uncomfortable in the stiff fabric and high collar, Fleur manages to look like she should be on Witch Weekly’s cover (and really, who can look good in a uniform designed by *goblins*? Fleur, apparently). The uniform top might button all the way up her neck, but it leaves her arms bare, accentuating creamy skin and delicate wrists. The stone-gray colour of the fabric accentuates the blueness of her eyes, and Tonks bets she must be wearing mascara as well (not even a Veela’s eyelashes can be that long and dark, surely). 

Gorgeous though she may be, poised, calm and collected even in face of chaotic nose changes and clumsy Aurors, but as they interact further, Tonks would be lying if the words “ice queen” didn’t come to mind. Ginny has been talking about “Phlegm” for weeks, and so far, she seems to be living up to her reputation. Her expression is definitely on the cool side, eyes distant, her smile merely polite. She stays close to Bill’s side, speaks little, mostly monosyllabic yes's and no's. She speaks so little, Tonks can barely detect her French accent. When she reaches out to shake hand, Tonks notices that she’s wearing gloves. They’re very elegant gloves, blue silk decorated with soft white lace, buttoned at the wrists with the tiniest button Tonks has ever seen. They fit in beautifully with the rest of Fleur’s outfit, seem to tie the entire look together. 

To Tonks' eye, they seem absolutely incongruous. 

Grimmauld Place might be a dismal place to be in, but its kitchen is the one place where coziness reigns supreme. It is warm and bright, permeated by the smells of Molly’s excellent cooking and filled with the murmur of friendly voices. It is somewhere where one can be comfortable. People take off hats, discard coats and gloves, loosen ties, kick off heels. They lean back in chairs, slouch against the walls, throw arms around each other. Fleur’s pair of dainty blue gloves seem absolutely antithetical to that. They separate her from those around her, put a barrier between her and all the others she is meeting that day. Between her pale skin, fresh and smelling of flowers, and the hands of hard-working people, tired from a full day’s work but still here, ready to do their part to bring some light during dark days. Tonks imagines the hands of her colleagues, grimy, stained with ink or potion ingredients, sweaty, dusty, calloused and scarred hands, touching those pristine gloves. She looks at her own hands: covered with scribbled reminders, palm sporting a band-aid where she nicked her hand while cooking. Her fingers are stubby and clumsy, incapable of graceful, elegant movement. 

Fleur might be beautiful, a skilled Triwizard Champion, graceful, the picture of perfection. Tonks knows that a shiny piece of gold does not a galleon make, though. Her first impression of Fleur is not good. If she got this far, though, then she can’t be the delicate flower her name and butterfly hair accessory suggest. She vows to pay attention, and see if the Order’s newest member manages to change her mind. She tips her chin up and shakes Fleur’s hand firmly.


	2. Part 1

**1.**

Tonks stumbles into the dark front hallway of Grimmauld Place, still dizzy from the apparition. She clumsily bumps into the umbrella stand, but manages to right it at the last minute. Merlin, that umbrella stand! Why has nobody moved it somewhere safer? Why is she even here, having to deal with it? She could have gone to her flat, or her parent’s house. She should have gone to her flat or her parent’s house, those places made more sense. She evidently doesn’t have any sense in her head, though, because as soon as she’d been released from St. Mungo’s, she’d apparated directly to the front step without a second thought. She stands just inside the door for several minutes, unsure of what to do now she *is* here, until she hears voices coming from the kitchen, some pots and pans rattling. Human company sound promising, so she heads there and hopes it isn’t Kreacher. 

Cor, does she ache. Her whole body aches, her feet, from being up all day at work, then most of the night in a chase and altercation with some shady characters. Merlin, the paperwork on that is going to be terrible. At least they caught them, and she can close the case. Her head aches, particularly where she took a fist to her eye, but also someplace where she bashed her head against a wall, which the nurse at St. Mungo’s used some pretty harsh healing spells on. Tonks wasn’t even allowed pain relief, since that could mask a more serious head injury. Blast. She reaches the end of the hallway and pushes open the door to the kitchen, already calling out a greeting, then stops up short. 

“Oh. It’s you”.

Who she finds is not Kreacher, nor is it the Weasley twins, which would be Tonk’s next guess, banging around the kitchen at midnight and up to no good. It isn’t Remus, as she maybe, possibly, definitely didn’t hope it would be. It isn’t even a random order member, coming in late like her. No. It’s Fleur Delacour, standing at the stove, silvery and glowing in the light of the moon coming in through the window. 

Tonks almost leaves. Fleur blows hot and cold, and Tonks isn’t in the mood to deal with confusing, frustrating, mysterious, foreign Veelas, much less have the energy for that right now. 

It’s been weeks since she’s thought of Fleur as only an “ice queen” - the first time Tonks saw Fleur and Harry together, that idea went out the window. Fleur has undoubtedly shown her... demonstrative side, in great style. The cool and aloof impression from their first meeting had melted entirely in face of a very sunny and cheerful, very affectionate, very loud, and very French, Fleur. There had been many hugs, a multitude of kisses, much gratitude and hand holding, and a long letter for Harry from someone called Gabrielle, at which point Harry blushed intensely. 

Tonks wouldn’t say Harry was exactly happy during the encounter (more like embarrassed), but she could say with certainty that he hadn’t thought of Sirius’s death for one minute of it, he was so suffocated in flowery-scented hugs and beaming smiles. 

Tonks isn’t sure what to expect from Fleur now - sunny Fleur or standoffish Fleur, but either one sounds draining to her. She just wanted someone to talk to, someone who doesn’t feel as crummy as she does right now, and who won’t ask too many questions. Just a place to rest for a minute, without being alone. 

She could leave, but she won’t. Exhausting as it sounds to be with Fleur right now, to make an effort to be polite and cheerful, Tonks doesn’t think she has the energy to apparate safely anymore. So instead, she drags herself over to a kitchen chair and collapses in it, to her sore feet’s delight. She sighs, and looks up at her newest late-night companion. “Hello, Fleur. I certainly didn’t expect to find you here. Much less at this hour.” 

Fleur, who was just standing and staring at her previously, finally drags her gaze away from the bruise on Tonk’s face and looks at her actual eyes, then looks away, fidgeting with her gloves. How is she wearing gloves at two in the morning? Does she wear them to bed? “I would not have expected to meet you here, either, much less looking… how you look.” 

Tonks grits her teeth. “Yes, well, I had a bad night on the job. Didn’t mean to turn up here and bother you.” She sounds a little more snappish than Fleur probably deserved. It is odd that Tonks came here, after all. She’d just admitted this fact to herself less than a minute ago.

“I could not sleep, and so I came here.” Fleur offers, sounding meeker than before. “The house, it is noisier than I thought.”

Tonk’s shoulders drop a little, tightness bleeding out a bit, and she smiles ruefully. “Yeah, old houses can be like that, especially one’s drenched in dark magic. Those tend to get all grim and gloomy, and have all sorts of questionable noises.” She snorts. Grimmauld Place has actually cleaned up pretty well, considering who used to live in it before the Order moved in. 

“I thought you’d be at the Burrow, though, or at Bill’s place?” Tonks squints towards Fleur, who’s cheeks pink up just a bit. “He out on a mission, too, is that why you’re bunking here? Waiting up for him?” Tonks smiles. 

“No.” Fleur kind of coughs, kind of clears her throat, and looks away briefly. “I do not know if Bill is on a mission.” She closes her eyes for a split second and then meets Tonks eye deliberately, turning to face her more squarely. “Bill and I, we are not living together anymore. He has returned to his home, and I - I have come here. It is only for some time, you see. I have found an apartment, near a park, and it is not so small.” At this, her expression lightens with a smile. “It is a very beautiful park, and the neighbours are all wizards and witches, so it is safe to use magic. I move in this weekend.” 

Fleur’s voice is even, though her expression tightened just a bit when she mentioned Bill, her hands clutched at each other briefly when she spoke of coming to Grimmauld. Her account is neither the indifferent nor the hysterical reactions Tonks might have expected. Instead, she seems quite calm, though understandably a little down-cast, perhaps worried. Surprisingly composed. Tonks smiles, and relaxes the rest of the way. 

“I’m sorry to hear that. Your flat sounds lovely, though. My own place is pretty awful. Cramped, you know, and loud. And the bloody landlord won’t let me Expand the place, or put up a permanent Silencing Charm, more’s the pity.” Tonks grimaces. “Cheap though.” 

Now that she’s been sitting for a bit, the left-over adrenaline kick is starting to fade and Tonk’s sore spots start to make themselves heard. She reaches up to feel her swollen eye again, and jerks her hand back quickly when it stings sharply. “Damn it. Shoulda gone there, actually, at least I know where my first-aid kit is there.” 

Fleur came closer and reached out towards her. “May I see?” Tonks looked at her for a moment, and then slowly lowered her hand. “You're going to ruin your gloves,” she warned. 

Fleur doesn’t answer, just kneels down on the hardwood floors so she’s closer to Tonks’ level, and reaches out a hand to feel along the area carefully. “You have a small cut, along with the bruise, and your eye is swollen.”

Soft cotton smooths over her brow, delicately disentangling strands of hair stuck to the injury. “It doesn’t look serious, though.” She focuses on Tonks, instead of the wound. “Was it magic inflicted?” 

Tonks thinks for a minute. “Not sure. Might be. Hadn’t really noticed there was blood, otherwise I would’ve stuck around at the hospital a little longer. Too late now, I guess.” 

“Hmm.” Fleur purses her lips, and examines Tonks’ eye for another second. “Better not to risk it,” she decides. “I will be back shortly.” Fleur leaves the kitchen for a couple of minutes, during which Tonks makes herself more comfortable in her chair, and charms the old-fashioned lamps alight, so they’re not sitting around in the dark any longer. When Fleur comes back, she’s holding a white box with a red cross on it - a Muggle first-aid kit. 

“I’m afraid this will take longer to heal, but at the very least it will get cleaned.” 

Fleur kneels down in front of her, exchanges her gloves for a set of sterilized rubber ones, and proceeds to clean her cut, and the area around her eye gently, first with water, then with rubbing alcohol. Tonks hisses at the sting, and Fleur’s eyes flicker to hers briefly, and then go back to the task at hand, apparently completely focused on that, and nothing else. Since she says nothing at all, just keeps working steadily, Tonks also doesn’t make any effort to chat. Instead, she takes the opportunity to watch Fleur from up close.

In the now warm light of the lamps in the kitchen, her skin takes on a warmer tone than the almost ethereal pale glow caused by the moonlight, her hair now more golden than silver. Fleur looks breathtaking in the low light, but also… a little fragile. The lamplight reveals dark circles under her eyes and a sunken look to her cheeks. It is a curious contrast: the delicate shadows cast by eyelashes on the delicacy of cheekbones sharper than they should be. Fleur looks… tired. 

Tonks ponders this as Fleur finishes disinfecting the area, then as she pulls out a tube of antibacterial cream, fingers rubbing it in in smooth circles. She finishes by putting a bandage over it all, and then packs everything away. She discards the sterile gloves, then pulls on her own pair, buttoning them carefully. Tonks watches her tiredly. 

“Thank you.” Tonks looks down at her hands. They’re shaking suddenly, and there is an odd, tight feeling in her chest. Fleur just smiles at her, and says: 

“I am happy to help.” She moves to leave the room with the kit, but hesitates, and ends up setting it on the kitchen table. “Do you want to talk about it?” She indicates Tonk’s bashed up eye with her head. 

Tonks considers, for a moment, then sighs and says “Not right now. Let’s just say that I don’t see ugly things only when I’m working for the Order.” 

Fleur watches her for a beat, and then nods. “Then you perhaps would like some warm milk? That is what I was going to prepare, before you arrived.” 

“That sounds lovely, thank you.” It is not what her mother would have offered her, or even what Tonks would have suggested herself. Tea is more traditional, more English. But that is not important right now. What is important right now, is that Fleur has offered to make her some warm milk. 

“And perhaps, you would like to stay tonight, in one of the guest bedrooms? I do not believe the Headmaster or Harry would mind.” 

Tonks doesn’t answer and Fleur doesn’t push. Instead, she moves around the kitchen for a short while, pulling out a saucepan, adding cinnamon, cloves and honey, and finally pouring the milk into two large mugs. They sit around the kitchen table, clink their mugs together, and drink in companionable silence. 

Tonks presses her hands to the warm ceramic, absorbing comfort, tastes warmth and spice, and tries to wrap her head around the fact that that people can be so ugly and so beautiful, so violent and so gentle, all in the same world, and wonders that the contrast doesn’t crack reality.  
She looks at the woman before her, alternately cool and collected, loud and expressive or gentle and kind. She looks back at her drink, and thinks that this probably means more than it looks like. She’s too tired to puzzle it out, right now, though, both how people can be so contradictory, and how Fleur can be so contradictory. So, instead, she enjoys this quiet moment with a new friend, and sips her milk in peace. 


	3. Part 2

**2.**

The next time Fleur and Tonks interact beyond greeting each other in passing, there is no time for preparing warm beverages and late night heart to hearts. They’ve both been assigned last minute to a supply run for the Order - those originally tasked with the pick-up were recently caught in a run-in with some Snatchers, and were off the rotation for a while until they recovered and dust settled down. Ideally, Tonks got assigned jobs that fit in very well with her Auror work, such as watching important members of the Order, or tracking Death Eater sightings and activity. Fleur, of course, was saved for diplomatic purposes, negotiating with the very small Veela community in Great Britain, and some other Peoples in collaboration with other members like Charlie, Hagrid and Remus on that front. 

The fact of the matter, though, was that the supply run could not be neglected, given that it consisted of important and expensive potion ingredients, and that there was nobody to do it. Fleur and Tonks were both fairly junior members, in the scheme of things, though certainly not incapable, and it made sense that they take on the responsibility. So here they are, in the apothecary that’s supplying them this time, just finishing shrinking all the boxes and piling them into pockets, when the bell at the door rings, and two men walk in the door. They’re both wearing black robes; one has a crooked nose, the other is blond and very big. 

Tonks recognizes them instantly. Gibbon and Rowle, shite. They’ve just been caught by surprise in a cramped apothecary, surrounded by towering shelves of volatile ingredients, faced with two known Death Eaters and one potentially traitorous, definitely two-faced apothecary owner. Shite, shite, shite. There is a moment of stunned silence, the two women facing the two men. Tonks examines the room with a professional’s eye, notices windows and hazardous ingredients, judges distances, and makes a split second decision. 

Tonks shoves Fleur down just as Rowle slings a curse at them, which fizzles against the bins of bezoars protecting them. The apothecary dives behind his counter, and Tonks raises up on the balls of her feet, shooting a Stunner over the boxes at the Death Eaters. Glass shatters, a flurry of hexes travels back and forth, and Tonk’s world narrows down to the two Death Eaters and her wand. Keeping them at bay won’t work forever, and Tonks is considering rolling out across the floor to get a better shot, keep moving, when something brushes up against her side. She startles badly and misses her aim, spell smashing a jar of newt’s eyes several inches to the right of Gibbon’s face. Damn it, it’s Fleur. 

Fleur, who’s stuffed the last of the shrunk supplies down her pockets and is now rising up beside her, shooting french-sounding spells at the Death Eaters. Pretty, skilled, important, Fleur, who Tonks has hardly spent any time with, and, more importantly, has no idea idea what duelling level she’s at. Bloody hell. Close combat is something Tonks has been trained for, but Fleur isn’t an Auror. 

Tonks re-assesses. If she were with her Auror partner, they’d already have called in back up. If she were with her usual Order team, they’d be splitting up and surrounding the Death Eater, going the direct approach. She scraps all of that. They have no back up, and she can’t risk splitting up and leaving Fleur vulnerable. Keeping on the offensive and blasting their way to the front door is also not an option either, given the risk of her own spells hitting Fleur. 

She swears, and instead of starting up another barrage of curses, casts the most powerful shielding spell she knows. 

“Listen,” she grabs Fleur’s arm and drags her face close to her own, and looks her dead in the eye. “There’s no floo here, no apparating; if we’re going to get out of this place alive, it’s going to be through the front door. It’s no use going direct - Rowle is too good, it’s too dangerous. We need to buy some time, get them to follow us into the shelves, and maybe we’ll be able to come up with something.” 

Fleur nods, her skin pale, but her hand steady on her wand. “Shelves are good. I think I have a plan.” 

Something explodes over them, drenching them in foul smelling liquid, and Tonks wipes gunk off her face. “Great,” she replies, “You can say it later. Right now, just… stick to spells you know, stay behind me, and run like hell. Got it?” 

Another rain of glass, and Tonks is forced to stand up and let loose a couple more curses to keep them back. 

“Give up, darling!” Rowle shouts. “Can’t hide behind those boxes forever!” 

Tonks shows her teeth to them, and with a couple well-aimed _Bombardas_ , blasts them both across the room. “Go, now!” She screams, and Fleur sprints for the shelves of goods behind them, Tonks only a hairsbreadth behind them. 

Halfway there, the red flash of a Stunner flashes by them, a green jet impacts her shoulder. Tonks topples, but Fleur fists the back of her robe and hauls her up again, casting a protego over hers shoulder. The next spells Tonks dodges, and they manage to reach the shelves, disappearing among them. Now, it is a game of cat and mouse. 

In the dark, every sound seems to be magnified - Tonk’s thumping heartbeat, Fleur’s harsh, panting breaths, the squelches of their shoes, covered in whatever goo they were drenched in. It feels like their location should be readily apparent to their pursuers, though Tonks knows objectively that they’d have to be very close to hear them, especially over the noise the Death Eaters are making themselves. It should make them easier to locate, with their crashing booted footsteps, loud curses and taunting jeers, but the sounds seem to echo and reverberate against the high ceiling, and Tonks can’t tell where they are. 

She stops for a minute and shakes her arm out, trying to disperse the tingles left over from her hit. “This place is too small to actually get around them without being noticed,” she murmurs to Fleur. “Fuck.” 

“We’ll need to face them, then.” Fleur says calmly. “This shop, it is like a maze. Small, yes, but confusing. We could lead them so that they are no longer between us and the door.” 

A flash of admiration runs through Tonks. “That’s brilliant, Fleur.” She grins at her companion. “The first step is to find them, then, lead them further in? Separate them, if possible?” 

Fleur agrees, and they set off. They run into Gibbon first, the three of them turning a corner and running straight into each other. Fleur, who was in the lead, rears back, and Tonks reacts first, throwing an “Impedimenta!” at the man. He blocks and retaliates with a silent jab, light shooting from his wand at shrieking past her right ear. 

“I’VE FOUND THEM!” He shouts, “OVER BY THE -”

“Silencio!” 

Fleur manages to stop him in time, but they can hear Rowle pounding towards them. 

“Fuck!” Tonks swears. The other Death Eater sounds nearer than she’d hoped, but she’s fairly certain he’s coming from behind them, so she throws caution aside and rushes Gibbon, screaming at Fleur “Follow me!”. 

Gibbon makes the jabbing motion again, and Tonks barely ducks under the spell, casting her own “Stupefy!”. He dances out of her way, but that’s alright, because the idea was to lead them astray, right? And so long they keep the Death Eaters separate, they have a good chance of overcoming Gibbon. Fleur runs ahead a little, whipping around a corner, and Tonks follows, checking continuously over her shoulder. 

The effects of Fleur’s Silencing Spell obviously wear off, because Gibbon starts shooting curses at them. They dodge and weave, trying to avoid them, but there is nowhere to go to in these narrow aisles. They cut another left, vaguely aiming for the door, overturning boxes of items and tossing back bags of products in their wake, hoping to slow Gibbon down. He blasts or kicks them out of their way, and Tonks can tell he’s catching up. She shoots an “Impedimenta!” over her shoulder, bolts around another corner, and then skids to a halt. They’re at a dead end, the back wall of the shop ahead of them. They turn back, but it’s too late, Gibbon is at the entrance to the aisle, advancing upon them rapidly. 

“Protego!” Fleur shouts. Gibbon’s Cutting Curse splashes off her shield harmlessly. Curses fly back and forth, shields get thrown up and then ripped apart. Tonks hits him in the leg making him limp, Fleur takes a slash to her forehead, blood pouring down the side of her face. 

Vials of potion crash to the floor, making it slick and slippery, and their curses start going wide as they begin to skid and slide, losing their balance. The chase has apparently thrown Rowle off their track again, but Tonks knows it's just a matter of time. One of her _Confundo's_ nearly strikes Fleur when she tries to dodge and cast simultaneously and ends up slipping. She takes a deep breath and decides to take a chance. 

She shoves her wand into it's holster, warns Fleur to watch out, and tackles Gibbon. The unexpected tactic works for a second, and they crash to the floor, grappling at each other. She grips his wand hand, trying to wrest it from him. They roll about, but Tonks manages to end up over him, her full body weight pinning him down. He doesn’t seem bothered by this, just grins at her and bucks up, bashing his head into hers. 

Pain explodes behind her eyes, and her grip slackens. Breath rushes out of her when he kicks her off him, then again when she gets blasted against a shelf. 

She blacks out for a second. 

When she comes to, there is a strong ringing in her ears. Her breath comes in short, dizzying gasps, and her rib-cage is on fire. Hot tears wet her cheeks, squeezing past her eyelids, screwed up tight against the pain. 

Distantly, she can hear shouting, thumping. Merlin fuck, she hurts. She scrabbles about, fingers sliding against something slimy, and she gags. Finally, she reaches her holster and fists her wand. 

“Episkey,” she gasps, and her nose cracks back into place. Her ribs follow in short order, which only intensifies the pain, but at least now she can breathe. She pushes up to a sitting position, sucking air through her teeth. 

Fleur is dueling Gibbon, air crackling with spells, their faces bathed in multicoloured light. Tonks watches, a little dazed, as they jab and slash, parry, retreat, attack. With a start, Tonks realises Fleur is holding her own - more than holding her own, she’s slowly but surely driving Gibbon back, trapping him against the wall. 

As Tonks slowly struggles to her feet, teeth locked against nausea, she distracts herself from the acid in her chest by noticing Fleur’s fighting style. Perhaps unsurprisingly, she’s one of the most elegant duelists Tonks has ever met. Her footwork is light and sure, none of Tonks’ ever present clumsiness, even on the wet flooring. Her aim is precise, her speed incredible. Tonks suddenly remembers that Fleur was a Triwizard champion. She certainly looks the part, face dusty and dirty, hair slicked with blood, teeth bared in a snarl, eyes flashing fiercely. With a last “Petrificus Totalus!” Gibbon goes stiff as a board, and crashes to the floor. 

Fleur follows it up with a neat Binding spell, ropes conjured up to wind around the Death Eater tightly, then a quick “Stupefy!” and Gibbon is out cold. Fleur pockets his wand, and then spins around to face her, a look of concern on her face. 

“Are you well?!” Fleur's hands come up to flutter around her face and chest, trying to feel for cuts and bruises without actually touching her. Tonks almost laughs when she notices Fleur is still wearing her gloves. They are dirtied and soaked in goo, both torn so that they are clinging to her hands by only some scraps of fabric, but still there. Tonks realises how silly she must seem to Fleur, hunched over in pain, slimy hair plastered to her face, lip split and bloody.

“ ‘m fine,” Tonks grunts, straightening out the rest of the way. “Don't pay attention to me, watch out for Rowle! Constant vigilance!” 

Fleur's eyes flash and her lips purse, but she steps back, eyes darting down the corridor. “I can't hear him, he must not be close yet.” She says. Her eyes return to Tonks, sweeping up and down in an appraising look. “Where are you hurt?” 

“I said I'm fine,” Tonks snaps. Fleur looks unimpressed. She’s right, of course. Partners should be completely honest with each other on the field; they can't compensate for injuries if they hide them from one another. “My ribs are pretty bashed up, I suppose.”

The blonde doesn't comment further; just points her wand and murmurs something french, and the inferno in Tonks’ chest reduces to a sharp burn, then to a persistent tingle. She breathes in carefully, and finds that she can take a deep breath without choking on pain. Some tension bleeds out of her now that she doesn’t need to hold her body in such a way as to protect her ribs anymore. 

“Thanks. That’s a pretty neat trick.” This time, her tone of voice is softened by gratefulness. “And thank you for saving my life as well, I suppose. Good work with Gibbon” 

“Thank you.” Fleur smiles, and her eyes soften again. “It won't last forever, the Bind or the spell on you. Hopefully it will be long enough for us to get out of here and take you to the hospital.” 

Tonks just nods, and pushes off the shelf. “Better get going, then.” 

They creep down the aisles now, more careful of turning corners and constantly watching their backs. Tonks is listening so hard her ears hurt, but she can't hear a thing - footsteps, breathing, rustling clothes, nothing. Apparently, Rowle thought to cast a silencing spell on himself. 

Tonks casts a disillusionment charm on them, to be safe, and they try to find the exit. They pad down a row of dried herbs and flowers, turn down another lined with jars of powders, strange colours making up a view reminiscent of a kaleidoscope. Halfway down this aisle, Tonks catches a flash of movement out of the corner of her eye where there shouldn’t be any. She ducks instinctively, but when no spells light up the dark, she straightens back up again, cautiously. Fleur watches her with wide eyes, head turning in an effort to identify what startled her. 

Closer inspection reveals it to be a gap in the row of square bottles the powders are stored in, where the apothecary ran out of powdered arrowroot (so said the label underneath the empty spot) and hadn’t replaced it yet. Through it, they can see Rowle. Tonks recognizes the aisle he’s standing in. It’s stocked with pre-made potions, about three or four rows back from the front of the shop, and is one of the few that runs the entire length of the shop, unbroken except for a single passage, right in the middle. The blond Death Eater is planted in front of it, clearly waiting them out, and Tonks had caught sight of him flipping his wand restlessly. 

She has to hand it to him, he’s smart. This is the one place in shop where there are no other optional routes to take. In his efforts to sell well, the shop owner had made it to anyone who wanted to get further into the shop had to pass through this aisle, and was tempted to give up brewing a time-consuming or difficult potion, and instead bought a pre-made one, at a much higher price than that of the ingredients sold separately. To make their way back to the counter, one had to go back through this aisle, of course. 

In effect, Rowle had found the only bottle-neck in the entire store, and was guarding it. 

Tonks rocked back on her heels. A direct approach clearly wouldn’t do it; if Gibbon had been a challenge, Tonks didn’t want to picture what kind of damage Rowle might cause. They might make it, but they might not, and certainly not without significant injuries, possibly lasting spell-damage. Unnecessary risks, when they had other tools at their disposal. A confident smirk spread across her face as she cast a _Muffliato_ and beckoned Fleur closer. 

Tonks was an Auror. She’d faced this type of situation dozens of times previously, fetched up against an opponent she couldn’t physically beat, and no way to get around him. Didn’t mean she couldn’t out-smart him. 

Time to cause some mischief. 

***** 

The first step is to make sure the lie is believable. They retreat a couple of alleys back, for safety, then set about preparing. She casts some Expansion charms on her robes to make sure she’ll have room, and then screws up her face, eyebrows furrowing and lips twisting, as if she’s trying very hard to remember something. 

A buzzing sensation spreads all over her skin, and then becomes more intense, as if someone were stretching her skin, pulling it out like taffy. A puffing sensation balloons out from her middle, filling the extra space in her body, then becomes more solid and heavy. Her center of mass changes, and she changes the way she holds herself to compensate. A tickling, prickling sensation crawls over her chin and jaw briefly, the soft brush of her hair against the back of her neck vanishes. 

When she opens her eyes again, Tonks looks nothing like herself, and a lot like the recently felled Gibbon. 

“What do you think?” She asks Fleur. Her voice is a lot deeper in this body, and carries a lot further than she expected. Thank goodness for her _Muffliato_. 

“Wow”. Fleur’s eyebrows are raised, and impressed look on her face. “ _Incroyable_! You look exactly like him, _mon dieu_ ! Even your height… How do you do it? Does it hurt? Must you concentrate?” 

Gibbon’s cheeks turn a bright pink incongruous with his otherwise bad-ass Death Eater look. 

“Nah, doesn’t hurt. The nose takes a bit of concentrating, since it’s kind of broken and crooked, but otherwise, this is not so difficult. It’s still human after all, doing -” Tonks starts saying something about mimicking animals, but hastily cuts herself off. Better not to remind Fleur of their first meeting, that wasn’t one of their best days, for either of them. “Are you sure I look close enough, though? I’ll have to, for this to work.” Tonks wanders to a mirror, set up beside a display of creams advertised to clear up acne and embellish the user’s face with beauty spots. She rather suspects that might not work out as well as the pictures of witches and wizards applying the cream seem to suggest. 

They spend the next couple of minutes adjusting Tonk’s look, getting the eye colour just right ( a murky greenish-brown), correcting the stubble pattern. Tonks is still unsteady on her feet (the change in perspective makes her natural clumsiness even more accentuated, so they decide to give her a black eye and a fake bump on the head to disguise that). Then, they fiddle for a couple more minutes, while they get their courage up. 

This is possibly even more stupid and dangerous than rushing a Death Eater head on, and Tonks is dragging Fleur into this as a very important part of the plan. Sure, this might be a similar move to what she does routinely with the Aurors, but that doesn’t mean it was ever a safe thing to do. In fact, you probably can’t get a more usafe job then hers, tasked to run down Dark wizards and Witches. 

They eventually stop stalling though, pat each other on the back, and then spring into action. 

They make their way back to Rowle as loudly as they can, shouting spells, knocking down products, and miming a jolly good fight in general, making sure to blast the overhead lights on their way in. In the resulting gloom, whatever features that Tonks hadn’t managed to replicate and that might tip Rowle off are disguised, making her ruse complete. When they're close enough, Fleur lets out a shriek, and Tonks lunges for her, grabbing her by the elbow. 

“Gotcha, sweetheart!” she bellows. 

They turn the last corner and Gibbon marches straight up to Rowle, Fleur dragged behind by him arm, hands bound behind her back. “Rowle, there you are!” He booms expansively. 

“Look at what I found, hidin’ behind some barrels.” He chuckles deeply and shakes Fleur. “Thought you could hide from us, honey? Well, thought wroooong.” The last word is a taunting sing-song. 

“Yeah, yeah, we’ve got it, Gibbon, shut up.” Rowle lowers his wand, but keeps it fisted by his side. “Where’s the other one? Can’t leave without her, she’ll tattle to the old man, and then the Dark Lord will be displeased.” 

“I dunno where she went. I only saw this one.” Gibbon frowns at Fleur, then glances back the way he came. “Maybe she’s still back there?” 

Fleur twitches, then holds still again, but Rowle's eyes sharpen on her. 

“You. Girl.” He grabs Fleur’s chin, forcing her to look up at him. “Where is your friend?” 

Fleur doesn’t answer, simply firms her mouth and stares up at the man towering over her defiantly. 

“WHERE IS SHE?!” Rowle roars, and shakes Fleur loose of Gibbon’s hold. He’s so focused on the woman in his grasp, he doesn’t notice his partner move behind him, and draw a wand that isn’t his. 

“TELL ME!” Rowle raises his own wand, but suddenly finds his fist caught from behind, a hard wand tip pressed to his throat, right beneath his jaw. 

“I don’t think so,” Tonks whispers. “Stupefy!” 

Rowle crumples to the floor. 

Gibbon melts back into Tonks, who rushes to help Fleur up from where Rowle dragged her down with him. 

“Are you alright?” Fleur nods quickly, already picking herself up. 

“Let us just go,” she urges, “Go, go go, before they wake!” 

The two women clasp hands and run, aisles brightening progressively as they reach the front of the shop and the display window there, letting sunlight filter in. 

They’ve just past the case of bezoars when something grabs onto Tonks’ robe, now trailing on the ground, since she didn’t pause to fix it in her hurry. She twists backwards, ready to kick a Death Eater in the face, when she registers who it is. 

The apothecary, tear tracks marring his face and sobbing into the hem of her robe. 

“Please,” he cries, “Please, take me with you! I swear, I swear I didn’t mean this to happen, they weren’t supposed to be here today, only tomorrow, I swear!” 

Tonks hesitates. She is so ready to leave, to finally escape this disaster, apparate to safety and never clap eyes on this thrice-accursed shop again. Right now, she'd dearly like to leave this man to either deal with this mess of his own making, or to flee, and hope he can outrun the Death Eaters. Neither bode well for the apothecary. 

She knows she shouldn't, though. She didn't sort Hufflepuff for no reason, and she knows giving in to her baser desires is neither just nor kind. They will not defeat the Death Eaters by behaving like them. She resolves to take him with them, but wavers. Where will they go? She can’t take him to Grimmauld Place; if he is in fact collaborating with the Death Eaters, she would be leading them straight to their Headquarters. They’d have to go to some safehouse, where they have medical supplies (Tonks’s ribs and chest are starting to throb again). Which one, though? Tonks can’t remember which are currently occupied or unoccupied, and she’d hate taking this man somewhere where he could endanger other Order members. 

Her indecision must show on her face, though, because he lets go of her robe and moves on to Fleur. He stands and grabs at her hands earnestly, entreatingly. 

“I didn’t mean to help, them, I promise. Please, Miss, how could I refuse, when they came? I had to help them, you must understand!” 

Fleur looks startled at his grasp on her hands, eyes wide. She darts a glance at Tonks, and she huffs in exasperation. 

"Alright, alright!” she exclaims. “You can come with us, there you are, no need to get upset. Let’s just take a look at your arm-” 

“YOU BITCH!” 

Tonks is interrupted by a furious roar from the shelves, and turns around in horror to see Rowle emerging from the shadows, Gibbon right behind him. Both their expressions are twisted with hate and fury, faces pale, eyes wild, rimmed in red, teeth bared in snarls. Rowle’s knuckles are white around his wand. He flicks his hand, and she flinches. The red flash of a Cruciatus blows by her ear, narrowly avoided. 

Oh, fuck. They’ve gone straight to Unforgivables, oh *fuck*. 

She has time to hiss at Fleur to get through the door, no matter what, and then they are upon them. 

This time, there is no taunting, no witty repartee, no jibes back and forth, only intense spellfight. Rowle seems fixated on her, and Gibbon and Fleur are engaged in a rematch. Fleur’s face looks drawn and fierce, her focus solely on her opponent. Tonks has to focus equally on Rowle, who is an excellent dueler. She'll just have to trust Fleur can take care of herself, and that she’ll keep moving towards the door. 

_Crucio, Confingro, Reducto, Avada Kedavra, Incarcerous, Sectumsempra, Crucio._

_CrucioCrucioCrucio._

His wand is a blur, his growls thunder, his curses deadly lightning. It is all Tonks can do to keep up, seemingly moving through molasses when he’s quick as a snake striking. He looks absolutely transported with fury, focusing heavily on the Unforgivable driven by pure hate. 

Time stretches, her view tunnels to take in only Rowle, only his wand slashing through the air. He advances, and she retreats and darts to the side, moving around him, gaining back her ground. They move behind the counter, and Tonks rolls over it, landing on the other side by the case of bezoars this all started with. She has a second to catch a breath, and then he’s blasting the counter out of the way. She dodges and weaves, enchants the bezoars to pelt at him. Fighting with pure magic is exhausting, and that’s what they’ve both been doing so far, so she keeps using the objects around her, which takes less energy. She hides behind shelves, ducks around displays, throws powders in his eyes, smashes glass vials around his feet, constantly working her way towards the exit. Eventually, her tactics work, and Rowle begins to tire, his movements slow a little. Tonks risks a glance around the shop, taking in more of the environment around her beyond what immediately is at hand. 

The apothecary has vanished again. Fleur is very near the door, and Tonks grins in triumph. She really is a good duelist. As her fight with Rowle takes them closer to the other pair, though, Tonks starts to realise something is wrong. Gibbon misses a shot and Fleur pulls her wand back in preparation for a powerful jinx. When she strikes, though, her wand movement is imprecise, waving instead of choppy, and the spell is weak. Gibbon blocks it easily, then presses forwards in an attack. Fleur manages to shield herself, and another flurry get traded back and forth, but her spells continue to be underpowered or badly aimed. Tonks would almost describe it as sloppy wand-work, if she couldn’t see how entirely focused Fleur is, a grim look on her face. 

She knows something is wrong, and can’t do anything about it. Gibbon starts gaining on Fleur, herding her away and back into the shop, and Tonk’s heart speeds up. Time to *go*, before Gibbon actually manages to hurt Fleur. Tonks throws one last handful of brilliant purple powder at Rowle, and then issues a concentrated burst of spellfire. It works, and she hits him with a Confundo. The Death Eater lowers his wand, a hesitant and unsure look on his face. 

Tonks seizes the opportunity and rushes towards her friend. Fleur’s spellwork is even sloppier now, if possible, but Tonks can’t see any blood or bumps on her head, no injuries that might explain things. Gibbon snaps out a Cutting Curse which barely misses Fleur’s hands, and something blue flutters to the ground. 

Her gloves! 

Those blasted, goddamn, bloody gloves are torn, and making her wand slip in her hand, ruining the precision of her movements. 

Something snaps, inside Tonks, and her entire body seems filled with fire, with disbelieving fury. This woman, this pretty, delicate, feminine woman, is putting her life in danger, because of propriety, because of a pair of bloody gloves!? 

She arrives at Fleur and Gibbon with curses seemingly pouring out her mouth of their own volition, but their sound seems to come from miles away, distorted through the rushing in her ears. She slashes, jabs, flicks the air, and Gibbon falls backwards. A flash, a bang, and Fleur takes a couple steps away from them, breathing hard through her nose. Rowle catches up to them, no longer confused, and the light from the spells are so intense they’re almost blinding. Tonks throws up a shield and they run the last couple of meters, Fleur waving her wand and pushing the door open in front of them. 

The Death Eaters roar in fury. The women reach out to each other in preparation to apparate. Tonk’s hand connects with Fleur’s shoulder as the apothecary hurtles out from behind a box by the door, his face twisted in desperation, his hands reaching out towards Fleur in claws. He impacts them just as Tonks spins on her heel. 

The apparition doesn’t work, since the apothecary is still within the shop. Instead, they jerk sharply, and Fleur screams. 

She screams and screams, and does not seem to stop, does not seem to breathe. The gloves have come off and Fleur is looking down at her bare hands in horror. Rowle and Gibbon crash into them, tackling them both onto the floor, and the scream gets choked, ends in an odd gurgling sound. 

Wands and fists get shoved in people’s faces, elbows knock against each other. Tonks avoids Gibbon’s fist, grabs onto the front of his robes and heaves with all her might, throwing him up and over her, twisting as she moves, and gets above him. She raises her wand but Gibbon grabs her hand. They struggle intensely. A feeling of deja vu creeps over her as Gibbon grins and tenses his body. She avoids his head-butt narrowly, and he overbalances. She yanks her arm free, and then he’s stunned, out cold. She scrambles to her feet just in time to see Fleur manage to kick Rowle away from her, point her wand at him from less than a foot away. Her knuckles are white around it, fingertips red from the strain, eyes wild. She screams “Stupefy!” 

Her wand explodes. 

Fleur is blasted into the wall behind her, head snapping back and hitting the wall with a crunch. Everyone is frozen for a moment, Tonks, Rowle, the apothecary. Tonks can’t understand what she’s just seen. That couldn’t have happened, shouldn’t have happened, people’s wands don’t just explode! 

The Death Eater reacts first, laughing maniacally as he grabs her by the hair, hauling her upwards onto her knees by it. Fleur screams in agony and desperation, tears streaming down her face. 

Tonks whips out her wand, but Fleur gets to him first. With an inhuman screech, her eyes seem to go black, and she reaches out her hands to Rowle’s face. Her fingers are bent and rigid, like claws, her nails sharper, the skin of her hands seem to reflect the light with a waxy sheen. A fireball explodes from her palms and hits Rowle squarely, setting his hair and robes on fire. 

He screams and lets Fleur go, grabbing at his face, spinning about and crashing into the wall blindly. Fleur rises, her face the palest Tonks has ever seen, eyes wide and dark, cheeks sunken, mouth grim and drawn. Her hair is knotted and gnarled, her face is covered in grime and dust, blood smeared on her cheek. She is the most ethereally beautiful creature Tonks has ever seen. 

Fleur takes hold of the apothecary with one hand, though he flinches away from her, and Tonks with the other, then calmly leads them out of the shop. Tonks just follows dazedly, hardly noticing the glare of sunlight so entranced she is by Fleur, the colour of her eyes, her lips, the shape of her mouth. 

She is so beautiful. 

They apparate away with a soft pop. 


	4. Part 3

**3.**

Tonks takes over when they reach the safehouse. Fleur is human-*looking* again, and Tonks can think. It feels like coming down from a morphine high, or something, unrealistic calm giving way to urgent needs and tasks. Tonks is a trained Auror and knows exactly what to do with someone unexpectedly involved in a case, and there is no time for mooning over alluring Veelas. Fleur contacts the Order while she secures the apothecary, makes sure they haven’t been followed, and chugs some pain relieving potion mixed with two drops of Skele-Gro for her ribs when Fleur isn’t looking. Then she sits tight until Snape turns up. 

They aren’t even in the same room, and the silence is still awkward. Tonks is in the living room, staring down the tied-up apothecary, Fleur in the tiny kitchen inventorying what supplies they managed to save from the original delivery, and the air between them seems to be ringing with unsaid words. Tonks has the good sense not to ask difficult questions in front of a potential spy, though. 

She feels like she’s thrumming with nervous energy, and it’s a struggle not to let her hair change colour, and not to shrink smaller while she’s in front of the apothecary. It wouldn’t reinforce the ‘respect me, I’m a scary Order Member’ image she’s trying to project. When Snape arrives to question the man, though, she finds herself settling in a corner to watch instead of going out to speak to Fleur. She should go out, should debrief with her about what happened, what they both did and why, *why*, did those gloves matter so much, why they almost were captured for something so trivial. That is what she should do, what she’s been trained to do. Instead, she stays, and she can’t explain why. Only a couple of minutes into the buttering up stage of things, she realises her hands are shaking. She discreetly fists her hands in her pockets, but after that she can’t concentrate on Snape, on discussions of slicing as opposed to slivering that give way to subtle questioning. Her breath comes shorter, her heart seems to be stuck in her throat, her skin is itchy and tight. 

When she closes her eyes, the imprint of a ball of fire is burned on the back of her eyelids. Her ears still ring with Fleur’s scream. 

When they finish, all those nerves, all that vague, uncertain, anxious fluttering in her belly have abandoned her. Her legs feel weak, her mind a haze; her hands are no longer trembling, her breathing is back under control, but she seems to notice those things from very far away. It feels all too much, flashes of Rowle’s face melting into Fleur’s inhuman screech in her mind, Fleur’s voice coming from Gibbon’s mouth, coloured spell-light still flashing across her vision. In all the confusion, she latches onto the thought that maybe, maybe, if she talks to Fleur, it will stop. Maybe the tightness in her chest will ease, the ache in her eyes will fade, she’ll stop hearing the scream, or feeling the searing, dry heat of fire on her cheeks. She needs it to stop, because Tonks is utterly lost, unable to keep calm, and she hates it, so she has to see her, to get her to make it stop, even if she doesn’t actually want to see her, she doesn’t, and she doesn’t know why. 

She’s too late though. When she tears out of the room, eyes wild, she meets an empty kitchen and front hall. Fleur has vanished. 

She tries Grimmauld Place, first, which is a good idea. Not so good an idea, is apparating there instead of taking the Floo, like Snape suggested, eyes sharp on her; the squeeze of apparition on her ribs is agonizing. Instead of heading straight to the kitchen or guest bedroom, the two most likely places in the house, Tonks is forced to take a seat on the couch, gasping and clutching at her ribs uselessly and pretending her hands still aren’t shaking. 

That is where Remus finds her a quarter of an hour later, still in too much pain to move, staring blankly ahead. He tsks gently, and carefully prises her hands from her sides, makes soothing noises at her. She looks down jerkily, and finds him feeling along her ribs, hands light and, lips lifted in a smile, reassuring and warm. All of a sudden, she’s crying, big heaving sobs, snot all over the place, head aching. It hurts, her ribs protesting all the movement, but she can’t seem to stop. 

“There now, you’re alright. Shhhh. It’s over. You’re fine, you’re safe, now. ” Remus’ voice is low, gentle, soothing. His hands move to wrap around hers warmly. “Fleur said you might come here, so I thought I’d come around. I’m glad I did.” 

Tonks laughs wetly, but can’t get enough breath to say she is too. He just waits for her to calm down a little, then smiles kindly. “There we are, that’s better. Do you want to tell me what happened? What happened to your ribs?” 

“Got-got hit by a blasting curse” Tonks hiccups. “ It-it was a total, mess, Remus, just a-awful.” 

She heaves a deep breath, and sits a little straighter, wipes her eyes with the back of her hands. 

“I don’t even know what to say. It was just supposed to be a routine pick up, and then Fleur wasn’t casting properly, and I thought she might be hu-urt, but then her gloves were ripped off, and she screamed, and did *something*, and it was like I wasn’t me, anymore, Remus, like all I could think about was her, about helping her, doing what she said…” Fleur had looked so beautiful, in that moment, a perfect angel on earth. Except now, when Tonks remembers, she can see how inhuman she looked, and Fleur doesn’t seem *beautiful* anymore, only dangerous and fierce, unknown, other. 

Tonks breathes again, looks down at her lap miserably. “And afterwards, we were supposed to debrief, that’s protocol, even here. But I didn’t want to. It’s stupid, because that’s what you’re supposed to do after a disaster like that, you talk, and you work things out so everyone understands what happened. You can’t just decide not to do it. So I was too late, and now she’s gone, so I guess she doesn’t think I should know what happened either. ” 

Tonks’ voice is steadier, even a little indignant at the end, but it still wavers. Remus doesn’t miss it, and his eyes flit to her shaking hands, her breathing still broken up with hiccups, tear stains on her cheek. 

“I see.” He says. “Remember, Fleur isn’t a trained Auror like you, Tonks. That could explain why she didn’t stick around for debriefing. Besides, you don’t have to do it immediately, every time.” 

“Looking at you right now, I’m thinking it’s better she’s not here right now, hashing things out so soon after. Right now, I think you’re just trying to process what happened, what do you think? ” 

Tonks looks away, hair falling to hide her face, and bites her lip. She doesn’t like thinking that she needs time to process things, that whatever happened with Fleur affected her. She’s an Auror, damnit, she should be strong, unshakeable. And yet, here she is, bawling her eyes out, her chest a mess of fear and worry and confusion. 

“She might be feeling the same thing. I know I can understand avoiding a hard conversation. Especially if I think it will go badly, or if I hurt someone, made a mistake?” He looks at her inquiringly. She doesn’t answer his unspoken question and avoids his eyes, which is it’s own answerIn truth, she’s not sure if Fleur *hurt* her, per se. She saved her life, definitely once, maybe twice (if solving a problem she caused herself counts as saving someone’s life. Solving problems with a fireball, and some kind of enchantment, or spell). Right now, all she knows is she doesn’t want to see Fleur, or maybe she does, wants to stop wondering, making wilder and wilder guesses about what happened. 

“Ah.” He reaches out again and squeezes her hands once, comfortingly. 

“She was very upset, you know, when she got to Bill’s.” His voice is lower, more serious, but still very calm, nearly serene. “I’ve never seen her like that, crying… frightened. Desperate. Whatever happened, it wasn’t good for her, either. In fact, you look to be better off than her, right now. You might be a tough lady, Ms. Tonks, but not everyone can just bounce back like you. I think even if you had caught Fleur, she wouldn’t have been in any state to talk, much less have a difficult conversation.” He smiles up at her kindly. “I doubt Miss Delacour meant to hurt or upset you Tonks, both now and back at the potions shop.” 

He’s so earnest, so logical and just - considerate! Damn Remus, and his nice, soothing professor voice, and his reasonable arguments. 

Tonks sighs half in frustration and half in defeat, tension finally bleeding out of her. “No, I don’t think she did. She did save my life. Still…” 

Still, Tonks can’t be well with that, can’t let it be water under the bridge. Fleur might have saved her, might have shown amazing skill and bravery, but Tonks feels she can’t trust her any longer, as if she’s been betrayed, or lied to. It’s confusing, and her head aches with trying to understand things, because she’d thought she’d never really trusted Fleur in the first place, but somehow, sometime, between their first meeting and today, that had changed, lessened, though it hadn’t disappeared, and Tonks hadn’t even noticed it. 

Even worse, though she feels betrayed and hurt and scared, she can’t bring herself to hate Fleur Delacour. She can’t seem to bring herself to hate her even if she controlled her, enchanted her so that she couldn’t think, took away her agency and her self, and left her only a puppet, only a doll to be lead and controlled by a creature that looks human, but fundamentally isn’t. By someone, who, after all, has only been here a short while and who nobody knows very well, not even Bill, if they’ve broken up (and why Fleur would have gone back to Bill’s place, of all places, is something Tonks will need for another time, or she shall explode, though from what, she isn’t sure). 

It’s terrifying to think that someone can have that much control over another, can choose to do so at the drop of a hat, and that she can’t do anything to stop it, couldn’t even tell how she did it. For Tonks, who’s had to learn and wrest control for herself at every turn in her life, struggling to make her appearance a reflection of her own will, and not a result of wild magic or uncontrolled emotions, a window into her soul for all to read, having control taken away is her worst possible fear, come to life. 

Perhaps it is good that Fleur avoided her. Maybe she could avoid her too. For a moment, she’s tempted to do just that, to request to be paired with other Order members for missions, make sure this could never happen again. 

Tonks has never been this type of person, though. For all that she’s wild, and a little rebellious (young, some people might say), and is probably the most eager, excitable Auror in the force, she isn’t a *careless* person at heart, unthinking or precipitated, or an unfair one either. It’s just decide now, to let her emotions guide her to say Fleur was only brave, or caring, or irresponsible, or even foolish, but that would not be accurate or fair. If she wants to understand what happened, to be able to truly tell what kind of person Fleur is, to know if they’ve let someone dangerous into their Order, or someone of outstanding value, capable even in the face of adversity, she must speak to Fleur herself. 

(The scream come back to mind, a hidden depth, something with a cause unknown. That scream was not one borne out of inconsequentiality. Something about losing those gloves scared Fleur, badly, enough to lead her to an extreme). 

Remus shifts in front of her, rises up from his knees stiffly, and Tonks realises she’s been lost in thought. He still looks inquisitive, waiting for her to come to some conclusion. She sighs. She can’t speak to Fleur right now. Not with her ribs still hurting, her head pulsing from dehydration, and her hands still shaking from left over adrenaline. Sincerely, Tonks feels like she’s just been through the meat grinder, and all she feels like is a hot bath. She squares her shoulders and sits up straighter, cranes her head up to look Lupin in the eye, now that he’s standing. 

“Alright. We won’t talk now, especially if she’s as upset as you said. But we will have to speak. I think I’m owed an explanation, after today.” She firms her lips briefly, and then relaxes into a small smile. “Even I could do with a break, I guess. Cup of tea?” 

Remus smiles back, eyes crinkling at the corners and nods. “Sounds like an excellent plan. Tea and sympathy, best medicine there is, especially if you add a little chocolate.” 

They both laugh, and he helps her up, then to the kitchen, where she takes a seat while he putters around with a kettle and tea bags. He does give her a piece of chocolate, served on the side of the saucer, though it doesn’t go very well with Earl Grey mixed with pain relievers. Tonks leans back, and lets herself relax, to let go momentarily of the happening of the day, and enjoy the company of a friend. 

She can’t stop herself remembering another time, though, after another bad day at work (though that one as admittedly less exciting than today) and sitting at this table with someone else entirely. Hot milk would have gone much better with the chocolate, she thinks. And what that means, she doesn’t want to know. 


	5. Part 4

**4.**

Tonks prepares for the conversation. She and Remus talked a little longer, after they got tea, and he’d listened attentively to her second, calmer, more detailed description of what happened. His eyes had sharpened when she mentioned the fireball, and he’d immediately recommended several books about Veelas and their own kind of magic. She put together the rest of the dots on her own, and realized what should have been apparent from the very start. Fleur hadn’t enchanted her, exactly. Tonks had fallen victim to Veela allure. The possibility of that hadn’t even crossed her mind, honestly. She’d been exposed to Veela, before, for a case and hadn’t had any trouble resisting their charm, only bemusedly witnessed her fellow Aurors fall over each other trying to catch their witnesses’ attention. She had never imagined how it might feel on the other side, that those men she’d laughed at had been truly incapable of controlling themselves, their bodies out of their control, their thinking obscured by an involuntary ardent admiration for someone else. 

She regrets laughing at them, and resolves to apologize later, when this is all over and she can talk about Order members and business without giving away important secrets. 

So she reads, and ends up with a pretty good idea of how the fireball happened, and works out her feelings on the matter, calms down on the whole. About a week later, when she feels she knows enough, she sends an owl to Fleur, asking if they can talk. The next day, she gets a reply, elegant cursive suggesting a place and time. There is also a suggestion that she bring someone with her, if it would make her more comfortable. 

Tonks considers it, thinks of inviting Remus along. In the end, she decides against it. This feels private, in a way. What happened happened to them, and no one else; and bringing someone who wasn’t there in seems wrong. Her wand is all the company she needs, she decides, if things don’t go well. And if they go well - well, then she’ll be with Fleur, of course, and all the better for it. 

They meet at the park near Fleur’s apartment, on a bench overlooking a small pond. It’s beautiful. The rushes surrounding the pond blow in the wind, the trees are all misted with green, delicate spring leaves just unfolding, and there are wildflowers growing around the bench’s feet. Tonks has arrived early, so she sits and reflects on how things might have been different. After their talk in the kitchen, so many nights ago, Tonks imagined visiting Fleur, walking around this park, complaining about tiny, stuffy apartments, asking her about France, maybe comforting her after her break-up with Bill, like friends should. That could still be a possibility, she supposes. They could leave here friends. She takes a deep lungful of air, appreciating the sweet, clean smell coming off the pond, listens to the murmur of the river that feeds the pond, soaks up the sun warming her arms and face. She decides she’ll take it, if she can. That she would still like to be friends with Fleur, if they can. She smiles tranquilly, and when footsteps echo down the pathway, she’s ready, no longer only armed with knowledge, but ready to listen, open-handed and open-minded.  
***** 

“Hello, Tonks.” Fleur’s voice sounds low and rough, her tone uncertain. Her hands are clutched together in front of her, and she stands awkwardly a few feet away, as if she’s unsure she would be welcomed on the bench. She looks as elegant as ever, in a pale blue coat that matches her eye colour - or would, if her eyes weren’t rimmed in red, framed with dark smudges under her eyes. She looks tired, worried, stressed - remorseful? Tonks isn’t sure. 

“Hello, Fleur.” She isn’t sure she wants Fleur to sit beside her yet, either, so she doesn’t offer her a seat. She does want to want that, though, doesn’t want to lose a potential friend, so she decides to just get the biggest elephant in the park out of the way. “Are you going to enchant me, again?” 

Fleur looks shocked, and then her expression twists into one of regret, her hands reach out as though to touch her. “ _Non !_ I mean, no! Tonks, I am so sorry, I did not mean to do that to you, I swear!” 

Her French accent creeps back in when she’s upset, and Fleur shakes her head frantically, takes a step closer, pleads with her. 

“You must understand, you must believe - it was a mistake, an accident. It has been years since I have used the allure, since I was a teenager. It was just - I was frightened, and so I used the fire, and the allure, it just slipped out as well. I apologize, I truly did not mean to hurt you.” 

Tonks looks at her steadily. “You did, though. You hurt me, and then you left, and I had to figure it out on my own, had to read in books to find out what happened. I didn’t even know if it *had* been on purpose or not, though I suspected not.” She frowns. Her voice sharpens a little “Saying it was an accident isn’t good enough, Fleur. We’re working for the Order, we’re *going to be* in dangerous situations, scary situations. Risk of death, or discovery, torture.” 

She pauses, and softens her voice. Fleur is very pale, now, lips almost white, eyes huge and dark, swallowing up the rest of her face. “I was scared too,” she admits. “But that can’t stop you, and you can’t let it get to you and you can’t make mistakes because of it. When you know there is the risk that something might happen - if you know you tend to make your guard too shallow, or to stand too still in a duel, when you’re distracted by pain, by fear, then you have to prepare, to fix the problem outside of the situation, to make sure it won’t happen out in the field. In the Auror program, they make you fight ‘til exhaustion, make you duel until all your bad habits, all your vices come out, and they note them all down. Then, they make you practice. Practice, practice, practice, so when the real deal happens, when it’s show time, you won’t freeze up, you won’t panic, you won’t forget your partner, you won’t make silly mistakes. Everyone makes mistakes, but everyone should be able to avoid the silly ones, the predictable ones. They ingrain the protocols into your very bones, so that it will be as easy and natural as breathing to follow them in a crisis.” 

Fleur is listening intently, so close now she’s right beside Tonks, standing above her, and Tonks lets her. “I made some mistakes, back there, and you saved me. Thank you for that.” 

Fleur smiles, says “You are welcome, of course.” 

Tonks also smiles, nods, then looks serious again. “You also made some mistakes as well, though, and this one seemed like a pretty avoidable one. Don’t you agree?” 

“Yes. I had not thought of it that way, but - in a way, that is what Maman and Grandmère did with me when I got the fire.” Fleur looks embarrassed, all of a sudden, cheeks a little pink. Tonks is reminded of Remus' words. It occurs to her, suddenly, that Fleur is a couple years younger than her. “I got it very young, and I almost hurt Gabrielle when we were arguing. They made me practice, after that, practice very much, until they were sure I would not burn anyone, even by accident. Even if Gabrielle were annoying me, or the boys at school, a Veela must always control their fire.” 

“Well, then. If we’re going to be partners, Fleur, I need you to promise me it won’t happen again. Heck, if we’re even going to be friends, I need you to promise me that. I can’t live with someone I’m afraid will take away my mind at any moment, control my thoughts. And I need you to be telling the truth, when you make me that promise.” 

Fleur looks thoughtful for a moment, and then regards her solemnly. 

“Then I will not make you that promise yet. I will write Maman, and Grandmère, about the allure,” she assures her, “and I will go back to practicing, so that it will not happen again. I will ask Professor Dumbledore to take me off the list, until this is solved. Then -” she cuts herself off, looks down shyly. “I really did not mean to hurt you. And - it was very amazing, to be with you. I mean, it was terrible, you were hurt, and the man lost his shop, but you were a good fighter! And the thing you do, to look different, the _métamorphmage_ \- I had never seen anyone use it like that!” 

Fleur’s words had been coming more and more quickly, and now she pauses, looks up at her at once shyly and seriously. “I understand if you do not want to work with me, any longer. But I would like very much to be your partner again. And, independent of that - perhaps your friend. I do not have very many, here in England, and I was hoping, after our conversation that night, that we might become closer, that we might become friends.” 

She’s wringing her hands in front of her, again, eyebrows scrunched together, eyes beseeching. Tonks suddenly considers the fact that Fleur might feel lonely; that all her cool aloofness from the beginning of her stay here had been due to nerves, uncertainty in a new country, with new people, chancing her life to help a people desperately in need of it, and that that coolness might have been noticed by others besides Tonks. And that, like Tonks, they might have been put off by it, might have also kept themselves an arms-length away, instead of coming closer and welcoming a new member into their group properly. 

She looks up at Fleur, and breathes out slowly. “I would like that too, Fleur.” She smiles, and when Fleur smiles back, it’s bright with relief. “We’re not done here, though.” She warns. 

“If we’re going to start again, I think we have to start with a clean slate. Complete honesty.” She looks at Fleur steadily, and then intentionally glances down at her hands, covered in a different pair of gloves, green instead of blue, obviously older and worn thin in some places. It’s an unspoken question: is Fleur willing to talk about this? Is she willing to explain what frightened her so much she lost control and started lobbing around fireballs and brainwashing people? When she looks back up, Fleur meets her eyes easily. Tonks pats the bench beside her, and Fleur sits with a rustle of robes and coat. 

“I believe in honesty very much, as well. It is difficult to be friends with someone we do not truly know…” She reaches into her pocket, and pulls out a bundle of white fabric. “What I am about to tell you, is a secret I have had to keep, though I would have preferred not to. I never thought it would become a secret, was not a secret until very recently. You deserve to know, though, and I trust you to keep it.” 

For a moment, she toys with the fabric nervously. Tonks keeps quiet, listening. Fleur slowly unwraps the bundle, revealing a beautiful wand. It looks nothing like the previous one she had. That one was made of some pale wood, very straight and not at all embellished. This one is made of some rich, dark wood, faintly aromatic. It’s handle is beautifully engraved, carved intricately with a pattern of flowers and vines. It’s been polished to a high shine, and Tonks suddenly gets the impression that it’s - unused. She glances up sharply, about to ask a question, and is arrested by the expression on Fleur’s face. 

Her lips are parted slightly and her eyes shine, fastened on the wand she’s cradling in her hands. Her movements are hesitant when she carefully removes her gloves, and sets them aside. Her hands are pale, skin delicate and soft. She lifts a hand and carefully wraps her fingers around the base, raising it slowly and gently into the air. The wand seems to glow, for a moment, and a gentle rain of petals falls to the ground at their feet. Fleur lets out a sigh so light it’s almost imperceptible and then smiles, brilliantly. 

It seems to Tonks like a very intimate moment, one that she’s been privileged to see. She sits back, ready to let Fleur take her time, but the other woman turns to her almost immediately, expression more serious again, though there is a light in her eyes that wasn’t there before. 

“I was not sure it would still want me, after so long using another wand.” She explains. “I have not used this wand for… a very long time.” 

“It’s obviously your wand, though.” Tonks says, her tone light and casual. “Why wouldn’t you? Using another wand can be dangerous, if they don’t fit well. They can backfire, or mess up your spell work…” _Or even explode_ , remains unsaid. 

“Yes.” Fleur snorts humorously, and Tonks knows she heard the unspoken words. “It was necessary, though. I do not know how much you know about Veela,” she continues, words hesitant, “or about my family.” 

Tonks shakes her head. “Very little. I did some reading, before I came here, but I wouldn’t say I know much, not by a long shot.” 

Fleur smiles. “Even if you were an expert, or had much contact with the Veela community, this is a closely guarded secret. Perhaps you already know that my Grandmother is a full Veela, and I am only quarter Veela?” 

Tonks nods. “I think they said something to that meaning during the coverage of the Triwizard tournament.” 

“Well, my Grandmother married _un Moldu, un non-magique_ , a Muggle, and she lives on the Veela Reserve, still, and so she has never needed a wand. My mother also does not use a wand, because she is not magical in the way wizards and witches are, only in the way Veela are. Gabrielle and I, though, both have magic, because of our father. Gabrielle and I are the first in mother’s family to have a wand, and go to a school for magic. When my letter came, we meant to buy my wand at the same place Papa did, where all his family have always bought their wands. None of them worked for me, though. We must have tried every wand in the shop, and none of them were quite correct. The wand-maker guessed that it must be because of my Veela blood, and he gave a suggestion. He suggested that we change the core, use something different that would make the wand’s natural magic closer to mine.” 

She cradles the wand again, then holds it up so Tonks can see it more clearly again. “This wand was my eleventh birthday gift, given to me by my Grandmother the summer before I started going to Beauxbatons. It is made of rosewood, and it’s core is made of a strand of her hair. Gabrielle also has her own wand, with another one of my Grandmother’s hairs. We never thought it would be a problem. It works perfectly, it is the wand I have always used, and I have always looked after it.” 

She smiles, and then her expression darkens, becomes more worried. “Do you know why I came to England, why I joined the Order?” 

Tonks shakes her head. Fleur’s expression turns grim, lips thinning into a straight line. 

“I already knew how dangerous your Dark Lord could be. I was there, when Harry came back from the maze. I knew Cedric, I saw just how far he would go, to get what he wants.” Fleur looks down for a moment, and then continues. “Some months ago, an English wizard came to my Grandmother’s Reserve. He wanted to speak to our leader. He invited the community to help him, to support someone in England who was trying to make some changes. He spoke of Veela rights, more space for us in the wizarding world, of giving people the space they deserved. I was there, that day, and I heard him. And I saw the Mark that he had, on his arm.” 

“The people in France do not know so much of what happens here. We are more closely tied to the other continental countries. The Veela in our community, especially, knew even less, for they are very isolated. They suffer much discrimination, for many people think Veela are evil, and that they will enchant and steal away their husbands and children. And so they live on a Reserve, where we may be ourselves, without having to face those kinds of beliefs.” 

“I knew that man was not going to help us overcome that; he was not going to bring wizards and Veela together. And so I spoke to my Grandmother, and she spoke to our leader, and he was sent away.” She swallows, licks her lips. “He was very angry.” 

“I knew then I could not stay in France. I could not remain where it was safe, pretending that nothing was happening here, and let this threat grow, to let it’s shadow fall on France slowly, let it’s darkness destroy England and then move on to my country, my family, my sister.” 

“So I sent a letter to Professor Dumbledore. And when I came, I put away my wand, and I bought a new one. Bill helped me, took my to your own wand-makers here, and he gave me the wand that exploded. I will have to return to him soon, to get another.” 

“Why- why did you have to exchange your wand?” Tonks’ voice is a little rough from how long she’s been silent, listening to Fleur’s story intently. 

“Because it has my Grandmother’s hair in it. And if I knew, if I joined the resistance here, there would be a good chance I would be disarmed, or that I would lose my wand, and that it could end up in the other side’s possession.” She looks at Tonks now, and her eyes are deep blue, fierce and utterly serious. 

“A Veela’s strand of hair is a very powerful thing. There are stories, especially in the North, where we come from, that if you take one, they will die, or they will turn forever into the shape of an animal. They are not true. My Grandmother did not die, when this wand was made, and she is still herself. But whoever has the hair of a Veela has power over her, can persuade her to do things, to take actions she might not want to take.” Her lips twist wryly. “Like it’s own kind of allure.” 

“Grandmére gave this wand to me in confidence, because she wanted me to be able to use my magic, and not be at risk all the time with an inadequate wand.” She looks proud, eyes fixed on the beautiful piece of art in her hands, and when Tonks follows her gaze, she looks at the wand with new eyes, as well. It is not only beautiful, it is *meaningful*, made from love and care. “I will not betray her trust or put her in danger. I knew of the risk, and I knew they were already interested in our community, so I got a new wand, even if it was not so good.” 

She grimaces, and her eyes flicker to her gloves. She picks them up and laughs a bit. “Monsieur Ollivander’s wands were even worse than the one Papa took me to see. I could not hold any of them without some accident happening, and so Bill suggested I try using gloves, to avoid my magic interacting with the wand’s magic so much.” 

She shrugs her shoulders. “It worked. I had to start using them all the time, because I never know when I must use my wand. It is a little bit of a nuisance, but I have gotten used to it.” 

She glances over at Tonks, and her smile is sly, her eyes twinkle a little with mirth. “I think you did not like them, very much, when we first met.” 

Tonks is surprised into laughing, and she admits she didn’t though she doesn’t say what impression exactly they made on her. Fleur doesn’t deserve to be called snobbish, not now after all she’s just told Tonks, with how much she’s trusted her with. The safety of her family, no less. 

She looks up, ready to congratulate Fleur on her bravery, to thank her for coming to help them when things are so dark, their situation so grim, and is surprised to find they’re sitting closer than she realised, close enough that when the breeze picks up, some of Fleur’s hair blows into her face, tickling at her cheek. Her eyes look very blue, almost the exact same shade of the spring sky behind her. Tonks smiles, and then gently brushes Fleur’s hair back safely behind her ear. She’s not sure if the other woman has the same vulnerability her Grandmother has, but it suddenly frightens her that Fleur wears her hair long and loose. Fleur must know what she’s doing though. Tonks trusts her to keep herself safe. The blonde smiles back, and Tonks drops her hand to squeeze Fleur’s over the handle of her wand. 

“Thank you for telling me that, Fleur. I promise I’ll keep your secret safe.” Fleur’s wand glows briefly between them, and Tonks knows she’s just made a Promise. She isn’t worried about it. “I can take you to Ollivander’s if you like,” she invites, “get you a new wand as soon as possible, maybe show you around a little, see the sights. Diagon is a pretty neat place.”

“That sounds lovely. I’ve heard stories about an ice-cream shop there?” Fleur replies, and her smile is bright and sunny, and entirely happy. 

“Oh, man you haven’t been to Fortescue’s yet? Let me tell you, it’s awesome, my favourite flavours are…” 

They chat a little longer, Fleur and Tonks on the bench, the wand between them, a gorgeous spring afternoon all around them. When Tonks meets Fleur some days later at the entrance to Diagon Alley, her hair is a bright pink, she’s put on her very best leather jacket, and she carries a gift, which she hands over with a huge grin. “I thought you’d better have some proper ones, if we’re going to keep hanging out together, saving the world, you know - normal stuff.” 

Fleur unwraps the paper, revealing two pair of fine dragon-hide gloves. One is a discreet dark brown, plain except for the brass button that closes it on the underside. The other is blue with intricate black patterning on the palms and spilling over onto the back of her hands. It fastens with two tiny buttons, an off white colour that shine with a muted glow. She picks it up reverently, runs her hand over the palms, and tries it on. The gloves fit perfectly, buttery soft and smooth. 

Tonks smiles with pride when she sees the colour off-sets Fleur’s eyes perfectly, making them seem an even deeper blue but shifts nervously anyway. “You don’t have to like them, just - they’re really resistant to ripping, and they’re really good at keeping out the cold without making it too hot, and-” 

The rest of her phrase is muffled, because Fleur's just engulfed her in a hug. It's tentative, Fleur's arms carefully light around her, her body near, but not quite touching fully. She's very warm, and just a shade taller, so her hair is all up in Tonks face. It's an entirely sincere hug, and that's what makes Tonks tighten her own arms around the other woman's waist. Fleur tightens her own grip right back, and something settles in Tonks' chest, a fluttery feeling erupts in her belly. It reminds her of the feeling of seeing Hogwarts for the first time, or when she got accepted into the Aurors, a mix of excitement at an adventure worth having and the anticipation when faced with a challenge worth besting. She grins uncontrollably, and takes advantage of the fact Fleur's hair is already there to hide her smile in it. She's hugging the bravest, most beautiful Veela in all of England. She's not letting go till she needs to. 


	6. Part 5 (Epilogue)

**5\. Epilogue**

Two years later, a school is put under siege. Two years later, Fleur and Tonks stand together on the battlements, and face an army of black clad, silver-faced people who are too frightened of what is different and new to celebrate it, and instead seek to destroy it. They hold hands, Tonk’s bare skin against Fleur’s dragon-hide gloves. She’s wearing the brown pair, by now scuffed, scratched in parts, one spot in between the thumb and first finger of one hand a little discoloured from an incident involving poisons. Tonk’s swells with pride at seeing them. They’ve served Fleur well, have protected her in her mission to protect her family, have been a constant reminder of her first true friend in England. Since then, things have changed. When they look down the line of other members composing Hogwarts’ first line of defense, they all smile warmly, despite the tension, despite the fear, and their eyes meet in a spark of recognition, of spirits who know and see each other for who they are, and who stand shoulder to shoulder to fight for what they believe in. 

A couple of hours before, back at Fleur’s apartment, Tonks had taken a moment from the chaos of preparation for battle, and asked her if she wanted to put her gloves away, and to fight with *her* wand. To fight the battle of their lives with a wand that is not *theirs* - not even Fleur’s Grandmère would ask her to risk that much, to face such danger purposefully handicapped. She’d just smiled though, as Tonks was certain she would. She has come to know Fleur, had become familiar with her expressions, with her sense of humour, with her French tendency to be distant with those she doesn’t know, and over the top affection for those she does know. She’s come to admire her, for her courage, her cleverness, her solidarity, her integrity. She has come to cherish their friendship, and perhaps, to foster a hope, hidden carefully in her chest, of something more. She was not surprised when Fleur refuses. 

She was surprised when she’d beckoned her towards her bedroom. She’d gone straight to a chest of drawers and tapped a complex pattern on it with her substitute wand (the third, by now). An extra drawers shimmered to life, and Tonks peered into it to find the same bundle of fabric from two years ago, carefully stored. Fleur had picked it up, and unwrapped her wand. She’d cradled it for a moment, smiling gently. Then, she’d held it out towards Tonks. 

“Here. I want you to take it.” 

Tonks starts to shake her head, protest already falling from her lips, but Fleur brings up a finger to her mouth, silencing her. 

“I’m serious. If something happens - if I die. I want you to know where it is, and I want it to know you. If I die, I want you to take it, if you can,” Tonks tries not to think of what things might look like if they lose, if Voldemort triumphs “and I want you to take it back to my family. Tell them I love them, tell them I do not regret a single moment, because every moment I spent here was another moment they could live there, safe. Tell them that I have been happy, here, that I have found friends, true friends, the kind that I would stand by through anything, and who would stand by me as well, who have stood by me. Tell Grandmère ‘thank you’ for her gift, and that it served me well. Then, I want you to destroy it. Burn it. It has no reason to exist, if I don’t any longer, and it only puts her in danger.” 

Fleur gazes at her intensely, their faces very close to each other. Fleur lowers her hand, and places the wand in Tonks’. She takes it, helplessly, and gazes back at her in anguish. The wand in their hands warms, a thrill running through Tonk’s veins, a shiver over her skin. Hello. It’s the same feeling she gets when Fleur smiles at her, pure and bright and happy. She takes strength for it, breathes in deeply, but her voice is still a whisper when she speaks. 

“You won’t die.” She wants to promise that, but she can’t. Instead she says “I promise to take good care of it. And I promise to give it back to you, as soon as possible. I promise.” 

*****

Back on the walls of Hogwarts, a pink-haired woman and a blonde one hold hands until they have to raise their wand, together, to protect a future worth having. 

A master of spies dies, and a black haired, green-eyed boy, with scar on his forehead, puts it all together. He walks into a forest, and drops a stone. He also dies, in that forest, and when he comes back out again, Hogwarts rises up, united, and a fractured, tortured man’s reign is put to an end. After it all, he holds another special wand in his hands, weighs it thoughtfully. It is not *his* wand in the end, though, and so he decides to return it to where it belongs. 

Somewhere nearby, Fleur Delacour suddenly stands up from her efforts to clear the rubble around the doors the Great Hall and make transporting the injured and the dead away from it easier. She turns around almost in a trance, and says to the woman beside her “It’s over. He’s dead.” 

Tonks smiles at her brilliantly, though her cheeks are wet with tears. “Yeah. It is.” 

“It’s over.” Fleur repeats and looks down at her hands, face blank with disbelief. Slowly, she dusts them off against her pants, smearing dirt and blood over her pants. Then she carefully and methodically inches off first one glove, then the other. She stands there for a moment, holding them. Tonks breaks her stupor with an excited shout. 

“Come on!” She grabs Fleur, ready to apparate away on the spot, already envisioning a tiny room containing a chest of drawers, when a pair of cold, clean, bare hands grasp her face, shocking her into stillness. 

It’s probably the first time Fleur has ever touched her without the gloves. 

“Wait.” Fleur’s voice is rough with emotion, her eyes wide, and shining with something Tonks can’t put a name to (maybe is too scared to out a name to). “Wait. First, I have to do *this*.” 

And Fleur kisses her. Right there, in the middle of the Great Hall, standing amidst the rubble. Her lips are soft, but her her hands are strong, one moving to tangle in her short hair, the other to fist the back of her robes. When they break apart Tonks feels dazed, but it is nothing like that time at the apothecary. There is no confusion, no distant, buzz-y feeling, no intrusive thoughts of mindless devotion. When she looks at Fleur, she can clearly note the dirt smeared on her cheek, the dust in her hair (that’s tangled into a perfect rat’s nest), the paleness of her skin, the redness in her eyes from crying. Tonks still thinks she’s the bravest, kindest, most beautiful woman she’s ever met. 

She laughs, and her hair turns bright gold, her cheeks brilliant red. Her hands flutter about a little nervously, uncertain to where to land. They end up one on Fleur’s waist, the other on her shoulder, and suddenly, they’re falling into each other, and one kiss turns into another, into another, until she’s breathless and can’t tell who started it (it doesn’t matter. It just matters that they’re both continuing it). 

They pull apart, finally, and this time, Fleur lets Tonks drag her out of the castle, into the sunshine of the steps. Fleur is matching her stride for stride by the time pass the Black Lake, then running ahead of her down the path. Tonks pours on the speed, and they burst through the front gates together, twist in the air still going full tilt. 

At the last minute, Fleur’s bare hand grabs onto hers holding tightly. She squeezes back, just as strongly, and doesn’t even mind when they crash awkwardly into Fleur’s bedstead, the result of two separate apparitions done together and at high speed. 

It’s over, they’re safe. They’re together. And that’s all that matters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, all! 
> 
> In my mind, stories are made to be shared, so I'd like to thank you all for reading this far and sharing this wonderful story with me. If you'd also like to share your thoughts on it, come hang out in the comments :)
> 
> This is the longest fan-fiction I've ever written (though puny compared to other master-pieces), and I'd like to thank a couple of people for helping me arrive at my very first big-achievement. First of all, I'd like to thank the mods at FemmeFest, for organizing the festival and for being so patient with me as I struggled through writers-block, the opposite of writers-block, and html formatting dificulties. Thanks a ton! Second, I'd like to thank museinabsentia, for her wonderful prompts. Hope you liked your gift! 
> 
> Finally, and especially, I'd like to thank bluefox, my very good friend, who beta'd this monster for me even while she was rushing with real life deadlines. Your comments as we went along were what motivated me to sit down and just write, even when I had no idea where to take the fic (and I freely admit I used them as a sort of reward on Saturday's as a reward for surviving another week). Thank you. 
> 
> All right, signing off, 
> 
> Seven
> 
> EDIT: only exchanged 'anonymous' for my name, nothing else has changed ;)


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